Monday, September 24, 2012

The night we met, I had been drinking tequila. The last show of the weekend had just ended and the dirty and colorful boys and girls, long exhausted from alcohol, dancing, and drugs, poured down the grassy isles in a fleshy stream. A DJ brought his equipment from home, set it up in the back of his SUV, and kept the night alive by blasting thick electronic music. Asian girls would flock around and dance to the sounds of dubstep, modestep, post-dub step, and some 'new shit' nobody had ever heard. A glitchy synth stuttered over a pulsing drum and bass track. "Oh, shit.. That's dope!" a weary youth would comment to the DJ. Me, in my tan shorts; the ones I wore all weekend; the ones I would remove only for the sake of bathing in a public shower, sat on the edge of a chair - wasted. Wasted, but coherent. Able to turn my head, but only slightly. I was inebriated the perfect amount when I adjusted my falsely impaired eyes into the cross hairs of her stare. I smiled, looked away, and spoke two thoughts under my breath, "Uh-oh..." with a grin. "..Here we go.." I tried hard not to look, but I was caught in brown eyes. "At last!" I thought. My eyes had fallen on her tan skin. I was fixed on the red linen hanging perfectly from her breast, clung tightly beneath her chest, draping and rippling down to the desert ground. I had told myself, and my friends, that I would search never more for love. I had made a grand announcement, a humorous speech about how I was done. Off. Fed up. Tired and tried. My heart had lied. In my stupid shirt, pink and blue, I looked away. A rainbow of fake flowers hung around my neck. I stared at the dirt, then again into her eyes, and again at her skirt. "Fuck. Fuck!! What do I do? ..FUCK! She's beautiful.. maybe I'll just stare at her a million times until she goes away." I must have met her eyes one thousand times when, somehow, stars aligned and she ended up by my side. I gave her a decorated purple paper lamp, one of three that I had purchased from the Dollar Store.  "Are you sure?" She asked. An innocent romantic intensity poured from her lips. "Yes, take it. I'm sure." said I, the lame. Then I met her Dad, and it was weird, but as we exchanged words he turned out to be a cool guy. I was pumping the blood of an anxious heart, enchanted by the potential of love, or at the very least, connection. Her smile, the song to my amusement. My heart; an amusement park. I was one roller coaster away from coating my shoes with smooth talk. She had a friend, blonde with young eyes. My kindness prevailed and I gave glow sticks to both and sent them off with silly string and the purple lamp. We exchanged Facebook information and parted. The party was done, the fire flickered itself to sleep, and I drifted along my own thoughts with pride.

Months have passed since then. Once, I only knew her face in the dark. Now, I know her face in the Sun. I know the taste of her tongue. I know the scent of her hair and the type of clothes she wears. I know her in my bed, the temptation of her skin, and my patience wearing thin. I know little about what she's really like.. I know nothing more than the three days she and I have spent together. I have found room for doubt. Already I feel a cold loneliness when she is not around. In her voice, I hear a most beautiful sincerity.  Yet, there are times my heart becomes distrustful - I let it go. When she called me with trouble on her mind, concerned about wild boys attempting to lay hands on her precious form, I assured her that we are just friends. That's all I want, and that's all I need. Even if she was my girlfriend, that's all that this distance allows us to be. But inside I fight jealousy. I fight my own imagination as it torments me. She is free, as a beautiful girl should be, and it terrifies me. But I am no cage. A bird that lust, must. But, foremost, I am no fool. But I am a fool for most. This foolishness is what terrifies me so. I am foolish for her kiss, her touch, and those long clenching fingers - I am a wanting fool. I want what is best. Wading through jealous waters, drowning in insecurities, my soul has become watered down.
So, I'll trust her. I'll trust her to do exactly what she's meant to do. I'll do me. And she'll do she. The radio will play us a sad song. Together or apart, we will sing along.

Sunday, September 23, 2012

It's annoying, lingering thoughts. Seeing her pictures, pale skin, a timid glow 'neath brighter and darker tones, a  curve appears, my cheeks stretch, and crumple up into a smile. My eyes fix to distant nothings, I hear nothing save for her quiet voice and the wind of my mind. I see her face in this distance, she is nearer to me, in my eyes, than I am to her. Imagine her in a white chair, wrapped in white fur sweater, comfortable in black leggings.So caught up in my white fantasy, I forget I have face, an entire body to conduct. The thick vision is sucked away, slightly startling me, and I am left with mild confusion. A metal frame shakes a pane of glass, as a gentle and curious breeze invites itself in. "Why can't I stop thinking about her?" I say, but my voice trails off, my head and my eyes lower, I become introspect and ponder greater things. "Can't stop? I can't stop? That seems a bit far. I've only thought about her twice today - a little bit last night - and a lot these last two weeks." Two weeks is a lie, one I must resolve. I circle the dinning area, thinking circular thoughts (living on a sphere). She came to me the other night. I gave myself to late mystery of the night, and she arrived early enough, that I still remembered our rendezvous.

We were in a house, the outside was small, but the inside was huge. I stood facing the entrance door, the living  room to my left. In front of me, she stood naked with soft, dark, firelicked, hair. She had lost her clothes, or perhaps, her clothes had not found her today. Glowing like a photograph, she approaches, and slips me a sweet smile. Our arms make love as we hug. The glowing woman takes me by the hand, and I follow her lead. Quickly, it hits me. This is her house. There are toys in the living room for her children. The shelves are filled with books. The air is thick with longing and taboo. I'm expecting not to expect someone. The quick realization vanishes and I'm above her. Her body is not what I remember, it has changed, the way a tree ages.
We exit the bedroom, she leads me toward the entrance down the hall, but this time, not by hand. Clothing has found her. A creaking noise shrieks from the entrance, the light shining through the crystal panes inspire rainbows, and the white door swings open. It is he who I expected, but he is not who I expected to see. Respectfully, surprised, I stare silently. She waves a familiar wave, says a few words, and smiles before disappearing through the living room. Now, on familiar terms, I approach him, and he extends for a handshake. We make our way to the couch. It appears I'll be staying a while. He asks a question, but I am too focused on his weird appearance to fully pay attention to his words. I answer his questions on auto-pilot. His hair is not like I remembered. Instead, it's long, greasy, and uncombed. His nose is red, burnt and porous; oily. A blue and yellow truckers hat rests on his head, and he wears a blue t-shirt with a orange safety vest. "What has happened?" I wonder. We talk for a while, while she cleans up the toys.

I get a goofy smile on my face when I think about that funny lady; the strangeness of our intersecting lives. 

I used to destroy the world with my mind. The flies in the air would ignite and burst into flames when I waved my hand, embers to the wind. Unsuspecting cars at the far end of the street would explode upon the impact of my smooth missiles. Everything would burn. Now, as a young man, I realize that I have always been a villain, a tormented tormentor. Perhaps this evil broods in my blood, coded in my genes, sleeping, and using me to fulfill nasty dreams. A cursed friend of mine once told me, “…the really good villains don’t know that they are the villain.” He tilted his head back, letting his dark hair fall, and out of his thick cheeks, laughed a maniacal laugh. Every villain I had ever known came to mind, except the one that I had become. “Aren’t I a hero?” I thought. “ Wasn't it me that was born to save the world?” I had been wrong all of these years. My family raised me to be a hero, to be strong, educated, witty, and responsible. I was water being taught by flames. They too were villains waiting. Every eye was on me, watching for the next move, slowly creeping down my neck, breathing on my shoulders, heating the waters. Now it is my eyes that watch the family of fire. I play dumb when they need smarts; I pretend to be smart when they feel dumb - tricky, tricky, little me. I deny love. It comes close, softly, sweet, and warmly, and I slash at it with cold claws. It’s sadness I want. Sadness is all I have ever known. Above me, clouds turn gray and heavy; they become fat and thick, and pour shadows from the sky. I enjoy the rain. I am the rain; the pretend tears on every soft face. I laugh alone, and when I do, there is no depth, no reason, only hallow noise, empty harmonics. I am comedy. Every tragedy, every sorrow, every pity that ever was, I am. I used to destroy the world; they gray sludge. My fat feet would drag heavily along the concrete until I began to sink into it, and soon there would be no difference between me and the street. I tread upon, only to be tread upon. Black chewing gum asleep on my skin, I snatch at every shadow, cracking, hoping you fall in (the only hope I have). So profound am I! Every friend I ever had; I fooled. They assumed me to be just like them – friendly. Nope! I am a villain! Each one, softer than the next, came to me and spoke, brought a personal pain, or aspiration; I listened with a blackened heart, and slowly chipped away their dreams into misfortune – my favorite fortune. Jealously is not a word, it is a lifestyle! My yellow teeth clatter rivalry. Terrible fingernails grow out of my dead hands at the sight of competition. Every curl upon my head stews in greasy tantrums when someone, or something, has more than me. I want it all - everything. I want to run the hot waters dry. I want the desert to erupt in blistering heat, and here, I want all to feast on each others insanity; ripping the flesh from each others forms, wasting life; the precious gift. Fear is my Mother. Fear is my Father. Turmoil; my great siblings! Behold! We shall rule the day! We will tell the Sun when to shine. We will drag the moon from her great post, stomp upon her, and spoil her until she glows a most pathetic glow. We will eat the stars. We will break the planets. We will finally know the black truth, and we will exploit it; bend it! It will become a lie, selfishly, a lie. Until all we know is the truth of it all, of everything. Every book will be read, and burned. Each tree will be carefully grown, and accosted into flames. We will eat the animals’ flesh and bones. We will let the carrots of the ground and apples of the vine rot; the tired meat will sleep. Yes, the world is ours to destroy. My brothers and sisters, we are the great deities of destruction, the deciders of death. Every life depends on the death, as every death depends on life. I swim in this dependence freely and gaily, in gratitude for the grand opportunity to condemn myself and another. These are my steamy waters, the saunas of shame. Today, I sucked on a cigarette, and glanced at the growths around me; trees, bushes, grass, and crops. I blew my smoke into the air with a great wind and pondered quietly, tossing a bone across the yard for the dog to catch. My brown cap kept the Sun out of my eyes, and I trotted back to the yellow limestone house. I sat on the concrete steps and drew the last of the red burning tobacco in. My Father and his girlfriend sat behind me, and reminisced about the past; about smoking cigarettes. I gazed over to the black railing guarding the stairs, and upon it, a grasshopper breathed carefully. Clinging vertically to the rail, he adjusted his tiny body and took a few slow steps downward. Not making a sound, he moved slowly, abruptly stopping from time to time. I examined his bent legs, his green color, his furry butt, and his tiny, black, beady eyes. “I used to destroy the world…” I thought.